


softly, then

by notavodkashot



Series: FFXV one shots [18]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Altissia fallout, Canon-Compliant, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 14:10:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19319770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notavodkashot/pseuds/notavodkashot
Summary: Prompto tries his best to deal with the aftermath of Altissia.





	softly, then

**Author's Note:**

> Written for @bagpipes5k as part of my my 100 follower milestone prompt drive, over at twitter!

“Hi,” Prompto said, as soon as he realized Ignis was awake and shifting in place. “Good morning!” 

It wasn’t morning, really, the sun was halfway down and it would be dark soon, and to be honest, it wasn’t very good either, given the circumstances. But Noct was still unconscious, two rooms down the hallway and Gladio was still tense and brooding after his meeting with the first secretary, and Ignis was… well. 

Someone had to look at the bright side, and it might as well be Prompto. 

It was important he looked at the bright side, because otherwise he’d have to take stock of the reality around them, of Luna’s death and the profound damage all over Altissia and the ominous way the Empire had simply just… left, once all was said and done. He’d have to come to terms with the fact his parents were dead, not just missing in the shuffle of refugees slowly pouring back into the city and trying to make the best of things. And he… didn’t want to do that. For many reasons, but chief among them, because he couldn’t do anything about it. He wasn’t anything special, really. He didn’t have Ignis’ keen mind and smart tongue, to navigate all the tense conversations going on all the time, and not trigger any of them into becoming a screaming match. He didn’t have Gladio’s bloodline to throw around like a political broadsword and claim to speak in his King’s name without worrying he might say the wrong thing. And he certainly wasn’t said King, unlikely – and unwillingly, Prompto would point out, if he were brave enough to speak up during those tense conversations, instead of just standing behind Gladio and pretend his presence was any kind of moral support – cast into the role of hero, by the narrative spoon out by the first secretary, about the nature of the events that resulted in Altissia looking like it did. 

“Is it?” Ignis asked, wincing as he inched his way until he was sitting up, head bowed down slightly. “Morning, I mean,” he added, turning to the sound of Prompto’s voice with a wry twitch of lips. 

Prompto hesitated for a moment, before he let out a sigh that might have been a chuckle, long ago, before the world decided to spin out of control and into madness all around them. 

“Not really,” he said, reaching a hand to hold one of Ignis’ before he sat at the edge of the bed. “How are you feeling?” 

It helped Ignis keep track of him, as he moved, and the last thing Prompto wanted as a repeat of that first morning – that had been an actual morning, incidentally – with him startling Ignis and Ignis flailing and nearly falling off the bed in the process. It had been quite a mess, but like all their messes, once they figured out how to avoid it in the future, they had summarily and wordlessly agreed to pretend it’d never happened at all. 

“Stronger, I think,” Ignis said, with a slight twitch to his lips, “still blind, though.” 

“Oh,” Prompto replied, because he wasn’t sure there was anything he could say to that, that would make it better. 

He couldn’t make any of it any better, that was the whole point of pretending he couldn’t see it either, though given the angry burns all over Ignis’ face, it felt… bad of him, to think that way. 

“I, uh, found some more of that plant you told me about,” Prompto said, when the moment stretched too long and he realized the echo of his breathing was getting wet around the edges, “the one for… burns.” 

Found was a very polite way of saying looted, really. 

It was in fact the very same plant Ignis had given a short lecture about, that lovely afternoon he and Prompto had spent walking along one of the quieter corners of Altissia, because Prompto had looked at the small garden full of succulents and quipped that, even now, they couldn’t escape the ghost of Leide. The garden – the entire block, really – had suffered extensive damage during the Trial and had only recently emerged back from the water. Prompto had been out there, helping to chart out the coming and goings of the tides, as they settled back into the spectacular walls that had made Altissia famous the world over. And then he’d sat on the roof of a nearby house, taking notes, and watching the garden – what remained of the garden – surface bit by bit. The plant was going to die anyway, he’d told himself, making sure no one was around to watch as he went about slicing off the thick, green leaves and carefully placing them into the armiger. He’d never been very good at putting things in there, despite all those afternoons spent in Noct’s apartment, practicing. But he’d managed. 

He always managed, somehow. 

“That’s… kind of you,” Ignis said, and he was so strong, his voice unwavering, that Prompto couldn’t help but feel too small inside his bones. “Thank you.” 

“It’s fine,” Prompto replied, even though it really wasn’t. “…may I?” 

He remembered, then, with the sort of quiet hysteria that had haunted him since the moment the storm ended and the enormity of what had happened truly sank in, that those were Ignis’ words, not his. Ignis’ voice that used to be wrapped around them, soft and promising, every time he tilted Prompto’s face up and leaned in to kiss him. 

He wanted to kiss him, he realized with a jolt, and the desperation that followed after that realization made him want to die. But he couldn’t. Shouldn’t. Maybe? Ignis was hurt, he needed to heal and get better, though Prompto had been applying slices of chilled plant gel over his burns every day since he’d found them, and it was getting harder and harder to ignore the fact those burns didn’t look the kind that _healed_. It wasn’t his place to say. It wasn’t his place to want anything, either. Ignis needed help and Prompto knew how much he – probably – hated that, on principle, he could at the very least try to not make it weird. 

Weirder. 

“I wish you would,” Ignis said, and Prompto was terrified at the certainty he wasn’t talking about the frozen slabs of plant gel in his hands. 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Prompto whispered, looking down at his trembling hands and desperately trying to command them to stop shaking. “I’m so tired of watching you get hurt.” 

“Likewise,” Ignis whispered, licking his lips and allowing himself a small, wry smile. “I dare say I’ve found away to stop watching you get hurt, but I certainly don’t recommend it.” 

Prompto laughed, despite it all. 

**Author's Note:**

> Come hang out on [DW](https://notavodkashot.dreamwidth.org/) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/notavodkashot), if you'd like.


End file.
